


Tell Me That You've Never Felt Like This Before

by Flynn_Voltage_Taggart



Series: Love Wins or Something Like That [2]
Category: Half-Life, Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Freeguy117 au, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29930889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart/pseuds/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart
Summary: "I want to run my fingers through your hairAnd hear you say you've never done this before with someone like me"- "I Wanna Kiss You" by The Spook SchoolGordon totally has a plan to deal with certain feelings about his roommate
Relationships: Doom Marine | Doom Slayer | Doomguy/Gordon Freeman/John-117 | Master Chief, Gordon Freeman/John-117 | Master Chief
Series: Love Wins or Something Like That [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200908
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Tell Me That You've Never Felt Like This Before

**Author's Note:**

> Actually Adding To My Works In Progress < Beloved Character Gets A Kiss
> 
> In my defensw, I wrote myself this prompt over a month ago.

Gordon would like to think that he was precise in all matters.

Having a clinical precision him about both work and combat had kept him alive for all this time after all. It was good to have a plan and enough alternatives on the ready when it came to survival. It just so happened that this method was deemed inappropriate, inefficient, callous, or even completely unacceptable when it came to smaller, more social decisions. Based on the slight churn in his stomach approaching the subject of this little plot, he had a feeling this might be one of them.

Speaking of which, there his subject of interest was: John 117- the Master Chief, whatever such a chintzy military title meant, lounging on their shared living room sofa with a book about bird watching lazily balanced on his left knee.

The activity itself almost got a breathless little wheeze out of him.

Did every older man with nothing better to do take up birdwatching? Was there some sleeper sequence once you hit 45 that made you wear the ugliest flannels buttoned up all the way and stand out in the middle of sparsely populated woodlands to looks for wallows and hummingbirds? 

He was sure it had something to do with learning about the planet John had been entrusted to fight for since age six, but he thought his hypothesis was a little bit funny.

It was a bit unreal to see him just on the couch like that. Part of that was the fact they had been thrown together on this little clean-up mission in the first place. It wasn't everyday you were handed someone else's savior of humanity who happened to be a 7 foot tall modified human from a planetary system that you had never heard of and told to play nice or else the universe might collapse in om itself. The other part was his appearance itself, actually being able to see the tightly kept chestnut buzz cut, deep set navy blue eyes scanning a page, and unnaturally pale skin sticking out against the worn green upholstery behind him. 

His subject has spotted him and was shooting an unpromising look over glossy pages detailing the defensive behaviors of maternal bluebirds. Unlike his other roommate who's visual acuity was subpar at best and often resulted in unintentional squinting at approaches like this, John's vision was hawk-like. That squint was to intentionally convey annoyance at the disruption. Great start, Gordon.

To be completely honest, this behavior was expected. John had a tendency to overact his antisocial facade in some attempt to seem stronger, particularly around him, and in response, Gordon mirrored a bit of uncertainty back. It was a song and dance he knew well and was almost reassuring.

John's eye shifted back to the book. His tongue found its way to the small gap between his upper incisors. He was putting on a show of focus.

In acknowledgement, he took one step back towards concealing himself behind the room's archway.

John, just as he always did when wrapped up in an activity like this, shook his head as if to clear the supposed distraction away.

He responded by slinking back two more steps followed by a quick dash to double check the other man's position.

With a dull, defeated sigh, John finally patted the empty cushion beside him on the apartment's sofa that barely limped along with its current load. 

His presence was, albeit reluctantly, accepted onto the couch.

He was in.

His plan was working perfectly, or at the very least

The next part should also proceed in that same graceful, routine, almost mechanical fashion as the first. It might be the first time he was stupid enough to look for a kiss from a man who could contort his spine into a pretzel with his pinky, but it wasn't like he had never sought out John's company before. 

Gradually, bit by bit, he shifted his position to be more entangled with John's.

Gradually, the couch creaked to accommodate a questionably sustainable amount of weight on the left springs so Gordon could better face John.

Gradually, their knees were touching ....and then soon enough their legs were pressed together.

Gradually, Gordon's head found its way to its perfect resting spot on John's unused arm.

It surprised him every time he was allowed to get away with it. He understood at first John had allowed for brief contact in an extension of his sort of "civilian safe haven" persona he used to tolerate weakness like this, but now? Now, he had no reason to let his roommate use him like a cushion on occasion, yet he did. Despite this strong aversion to touch, he let Gordon do this. 

He might have considered the significance of this further, but he was disrupted by the thud of a book closing.

That was not normal.

Who was he kidding? This whole approach was atypical.

"Did you need something, Freeman?" John asked dryly, something that was not necessarily a bad sign as his voice had all of the range of a band room triangle.

Well, this certainly brought forth an opportunity to spring forth the little question that had been lingering in the back of his mind for ages now. All he had to do was the one little gesture he formulated. More accurately, he was going to go forward with one of the dumbest and potentially most risky inquiries of his entire career, including his disaster of a graduate thesis.

Twice. With a softly closed fist, he gently tapped John's cheek twice. It was all he had to do if he estimated John's ability to transfer queues correctly.

It might have seemed strange, but it made perfect sense. Knocking on John's helmet was how he typically showed a version of indirect affection in lieu of a full on head butt. Knocking gently on the pale expanse of his cheek, careful to avoid the marred lines of past procedures, seemed like the easiest way to ask for more direct affection now.

The only hiccup was that he had overestimate John's ability not to have his brain short circuit at the slightest bit of positive contact.

Of all the embarrassments he has had to face, watching the gears turn in someone's head in absolute befuddlement after asking for a kiss had to rank pretty high up there.

"What? Did they come up with new Spartan signs or something in my sleep?" John asked with just the slightest amused lilt in his voice.

He shook his head which in retrospect was not his best move.

The way John was squinting at him meant he was going to have to provide clarification.

He was 27. He could certainly ask his long term roommate and informal partner for a kiss.

He could do that, right?

He knew that fingerspelling was a bit easier for John to read and thus made the most sense to use. It did not make it easier to steady his hands while getting out each letter with his brows knitted together to ask a one-worded question.

K-i-s-s?

The minute after the last letter crossed his fingertips he retreated a bit from his initial close position. It was mortifying enough to have to look at John in hopes of an answer.

And that answer was not coming as John sat with an indecipherable neutral expression. Of all the side effects of his lifelong military training, this had to be the one that caused the most personal strife.

Should he be bracing himself for a blow?

Was John beyond words with disgust or repulsion? Should he leave? 

Instead of any of those split second images of catastrophe, he got a calm and placid answer, "Not the weirdest thing somebody's asked of me. Go for it, Doc."

Not the weirdest thing somebody has asked for? He knew celebrities sometimes got an abundance of marriage proposals and assorted professions of love, but he didn't think that applied to aging war criminals.

He was overthinking this again. John had given him permission for a kiss, and that's what he should be focused on.

Gingerly, he shifted into a more upright position better accommodate for the gap in their heights.

There John was, looking at him with those ever serious eyes, accessing, being critical of his method no doubt.

"You know you're still not going to be able to reach."

What a weird time to try to insult him? He wasn't even remotely short. His roommates were freakishly tall and...and....

It wasn't an insult at all, was it?

John's hands were under his chin and on the small of his back.

It wasn’t an insult. It was an observation. A kiss was a team effort, and John was as always trying to pull more than his weight to facilitate it. 

He could not really complain. The warmth of John's skin as he somewhat straddled his unoccupied knee and the smell of chemically clean soap emanating off him and his clothes had a certain comfort to it that he could not have reached trying to maneuver the extra over 200 pounds John had on him.

Gradually, they both approached each other.

Gradually, his hands found a firm grip on the beaten collar of John's casual flannel.

Gradually, he could make out the faintest freckles across the bridge of John's nose.

There faces were inches away now, both a bit brighter from blush than they would like to admit, inches away from a first kiss.

All that was left to do was close his eyes and wait for this landmark moment to unfold.

....all he was waiting on was a kiss from John.

Instead, he received an interruption of his patient pause, "After you, Freeman."

Of course, always the gentleman and always somebody ready to get in a distanced, heroic quip.

And after all, this was his idea...

Without the former hesitation, he pressed his lips to John's.

John's lip were....well about as miserably dry as he expected- but it didn't matter...

It didn't matter because it was John, John who was warm and tasted like spearmint; John who had saved his life more times than he could count; John who always threw a blanket over him when he fell asleep half on his shoulder on the couch just like this. 

It didn't matter what exactly the kiss was like because it was with John and John had actually trusted him enough to do this.

It was only a few seconds before the connection was terminated, before John had pulled back just enough for those navy blue eyes going back to their vigilant analysis. That didn't matter. What had mattered was he was still sitting here with him. What mattered was that for a few seconds, it happened.

Perhaps there should have been more introspection or worry about what he had just done, but for once, he could pin his stream of consciousness down to one thought: mission success.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed <3 Feedback is always appreciated.


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